


it's a date

by choir, stellarisms



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: First Dates, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 18:44:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1357954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choir/pseuds/choir, https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellarisms/pseuds/stellarisms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spontaneous dates are the most fun, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's a date

**Author's Note:**

> A kirugon log \o/ Killua written by byuldeureul, Gon written by choir.

They’ll stop at the first food joint they find.

They both agreed to it. It was a mutual agreement, as Killua recalls it.

So that should be all there is to that, right?

Should-be’s, however, are the bane of his existence.

“You’re hungry,” deadpans Killua. He only wished he had the energy to imitate Gon, to make some awful attempt at mimicry and lighten the load on their travel-weary muscles, but the best he could offer was a dismissive wave. “What do you want me to do, conjure up a hamburger right here and now? I could be mean and eat it right in front of you, you know.”

He’s not, Killua’s almost sure, as hungry as Gon.

But he’s nowhere near as indiscriminate about food as Gon is, either. Survival instincts or natural affinity for all forms of food aside, Killua hadn’t the slightest idea.

His great show of bravado sounded convincing, even if no amount of Nen could cloak the slight grumble of protest his stomach lets out then.

“No, Killua, you don’t _understand_ ,” Gon whines, spinning around and grabbing Killua’s shoulders. “I’m _hungry_. I’d eat all two thousand something of your chocorobo’s right now.”

They hadn’t been traveling a particularly long time that day, at least for them, but it was a hot summer day and the sun always did have the unfortunate habit of making Gon want to a) eat or b) eat a lot. Or c) eat a whale. Either one was definitely applicable -- warm days required food. And shade. But it was 6PM and the sun was just beginning to set and everything still felt sticky and heavy, like the air was filled with sweat itself.

So, it was definitely a choice C kind of day.

“There has to be a restaurant around here somewhere,” Gon says, grabbing Killua’s arm and tugging him forward. “How much money do you have on you?”

Reflexively, Killua drops his momentum so he doesn’t tip over outright at the sudden pull.

“Enough,” is his vague retort -- until, wry grin sharpening into a smirk, he catches a whiff of an opportunity to tease the other boy and adds, “But maybe only enough to feed one of us.”

“Hey, that wouldn’t be fair.” Gon pouts and turns around, only half serious. “I’ll get to the food first, then!”

Spotting the nearest restaurant at the corner, he takes off running.

“W-Well, you can’t get jack if you don’t pay...up...” Briefly, Killua’s so stunned by Gon darting away that he blinks and stares.

Until he realizes.

“Hey,” Killua huffs, exasperated, glad that it never takes much to catch up to Gon’s steadfast pace. “Remember who’s been holding your wallet, dummy.”

_That_ gets Gon to stop and stare, at least, in front of the open-porch cafe’s veranda.

_And he’s not the only one_ , Killua thinks, a twitch to the corner of his mouth immediate at the bewildered, almost endearing look Gon gives him.

“Bandits’ territory down that one narrow strait we were on before, remember?” More to remind himself than anything, Killua watches Gon frown and furrow his brow while he retraces their steps. “Looked like they had their eye on you thinking you were an easier target, so. I’ve been holding it ever since.”

Holding it out, now, while he waits to see how Gon’ll explain himself away this time.

“Me? An easy target?” scowling, Gon steps down off the restaurant’s porch, taking the wallet from Killua’s hands to count the bills. “I’d love to see what they said after we had them running.”

“Probably nothing,” hums Killua , “since we’d knock ‘em out cold if they tried anything.”

In retrospect, his offer had been _just to be on the safe side_.

But he could see why they’d be fooled into picking off someone like Gon first.

Someone like Gon, pie-eyed and overeager and innocuous-looking as Gon would seem an open invitation for an easy fight. For guys like them, anyway.

But there was always that nagging sort of pride and a near kinship Killua felt at the thought of how wrong they were. At the thought of Gon, underestimated at a glance. An unpolished diamond. A bold understatement of the old saying about great things in small packages.

A clear counterpoint and contrast to his own fighting style, if not a force to be reckoned for those smug bastards who brought out his protective side where it was barely needed.

“Either way,” Gon continues, waving his hand in front of Killua’s face to snap him out of his reverie, clutching his stomach when it growls. He lets his knees visibly buckle before adding, “does this mean it’s a date?”

Standing up straighter, he gives Killua a little grin, tilting his head to one side and expectantly waiting for some kind of response. In the few seconds that follows, he has to say that he loves how the fading sun hits the side of Killua’s face -- it seems to accentuate all of the subtle shifts at the corners of his mouth to the furrow of his eyebrows.

(Maybe he said it on purpose, to see if he could get a blush out of Killua -- only maybe, though.)

Or, several belated seconds later, the startled flush that turned his face from pale to painted pink.

“Who’d even call this a date,” Killua mutters, _fumes_ , brushing past Gon and stomping up the steps leading through the entryway. “We sure as hell aren’t dressed for one.”

Besides, Killua resolves, Gon’s wallet definitely had more Jenny in it. So if anyone’s paying up for a ‘date,’ it’d better be him.

“Hey,” Gon calls, running up next to him. “It can be a casual date!”

Holding out his wallet, he shows Killua the bills. “I’ll be paying. So I get to decide what we dress like, and where we go. So, that what we’re dressed in right now, they’re date clothes! And this restaurant”--he gestures toward the cheap booths, and open countertop seating--“is where the date will be.”

Last-minute decisions aside, Killua doesn’t even have the chance to protest.

Grabbing Killua’s hand, Gon tugs him in the opposite direction to a booth in the corner, continually talking about how hot it is and how nice the air conditioner feels (“Feels like I’m getting goose bumps up my spine!”) compared to the outdoor air, where humidity seems to reign over like a heavy weight.

(Gon really hates humidity.)

“So you see,” Gon continues, talking too fast for Killua to interject, “you didn’t say you didn’t want to call it a date. Only that we aren’t dressed for one! And it’s such a nice night, you know, and it’s really hot outside, but I’m getting a bit cold from the A/C, so acting like a couple would keep us both warmer. Plus, bigger booths are also more date-like. Like that one!”

Pushing in a slightly flabbergasted Killua into the booth first, he plops down on the opposite side to him with a wide smile, kicking his feet up and pulling a menu closer.

Killua, still stealing glances at the island-born boy over the top of his, tries his best to do the same.

But he knows the truth.

Gon isn’t a singular force, Killua knows, driven by purpose. Not like he is in a fight, not quite an example of deliberate actions and reflective reactions.

Ground swept away under him, drawn in by Gon’s inescapable energy, Killua finds this time -- like every time -- that he returns to the same hammer-struck , the same inescapable pull and swell of the whirl of his thoughts.

( _He never shuts up_ , Killua realizes, idle chatter of the establishment’s other patrons a faraway drone compared to Gon’s tireless tenor, _once he gets going._

_His hand’s slippery with sweat_ , Killua realizes, his grip loosening and tightening and, if Gon notices at all how Killua’s fingers twine with his the instant they’re about to let go, he never comments on it, _but it’s ridiculously warm too_.

_How long_ , Killua realizes, at a vague chuckle and a soft shake of his head as he drops into the other side of the booth, _is he gonna keep playing along?_ )

“M’not complaining.” It’s quiet, Killua’s voice and his gaze meeting Gon’s over their menus, but the last of his timid remonstration is even more so. “This booth’s fine. Whatever floats your boat ’n all that.”

“But that’s no fun,” Gon immediately responds, still staring down at the various choices, stuck between pizza, steak, or pie. “Dates can’t just be what I want. What do you want?”

“Steak,” Killua says, automatic. He might change his mind later, but he’s pretty sure about it for now.

“Pie,” Gon automatically responds, before turning slightly pensive. Tearing his eyes away from the menu, he raises his gaze, watching the slight flush on Killua’s cheeks. “Do you want to hold hands?”

It’s a serious question, of course, and Gon lays his palm up on the table, curling out his fingers to reach closer to Killua’s hand, brushing his wrist. It’s comforting, somehow, to be like this with Killua -- there’s no worry about anything else, except maybe what pie to order. But the thought kind of ruins the mood, and Gon ends up laughing to himself before punctuating his desire with a quick snap of his wrist.

“Please?” he next to whispers, dropping the menu on the table. _I saw you hesitate to let go_ , Gon wants to say, but he can’t bring himself to; he wonders if it would make Killua flinch away.

Besides, it’s not like Gon doesn’t want to. Like he said, what they both want. Since it is a date, and all.

The question hangs, resonating, from where Killua sits so distracted that he almost misses it.

Any sense he had to argue back (maybe throw him for a complete loop by suggesting pizza, maybe ordering all three when their server comes back, maybe chucking the menu right at his stupid face) stalls when Gon’s fingertips brush against his wrist.

_Dammit_ , Killua’s instincts scream, the urge to stand and slip away again instantaneous.

Like he could actually say no to that pathetic puppy-eyed look.

“If you want pie that badly,” he quips, regaining eye contact just in time, “I’ll go flag our server down. Think I’ll take a pizza, after all.”

Like he could ignore anything Gon asked him to do.

“Yeah.” A sage nod, a nonchalant shrug, apathy put on full display. The works. He could do this, at minimum. Easy-peasy. “That sounds good.”

Of course, before Gon has the gall to ask what he’s talking about, Killua chooses that exact moment to slide his hand shyly into the open space Gon’s made in offering.

Chooses that exact moment to rest his leg against Gon’s, ankles knocking together in spite of the added space of a larger booth, and masks his growing smile behind his fist.

Chooses the subtle method -- the easiest, he decides on a whim, when it comes to Gon -- to get his point across.

Taken aback, a few seconds pass by before Gon remembers to breathe and settle his ankle to resting against Killua’s, squeezing his hand tighter. It’s hard to suppress the smile on his face; Killua never preferred to be as upfront with anything, but it worked, because it was Killua. Because Gon liked when they were on the same page, with this.

Running a thumb over the side of Killua’s hand, a minute passes before he remembers that a waiter is looking at them from the counter, waiting for them to signal to order.

“It’ll be kinda hard to eat like this,” Gon muses, awkwardly opening the menu again with his left hand. “Maybe you’ll have to feed me, since I don’t want to let go of your right hand.”

Hearing that much makes Killua pause.

“Lucky for you,” Killua doesn’t quite laugh, but he feels another one of those weird wriggly smiles coming on and his arm feels all tingly and he can’t be bothered to hide it this time, “I’ve got two working hands. But you’ve got ’em, too, last I checked...so maybe we should make it equal exchange. I feed you, you feed me. That way we both get what we want.”

Like the pizza pie and the actual pie Killua orders for them, at length, when their server comes back.

“So?” Gon asks later, fumbling to get a proper portion onto his fork. “Killua, help me!”

“Help yourself,” Killua shoots back, grateful for the small advantages that came with being trained to be ambidextrous -- like the fact that he could keep his spoon steady to help Gon get that forkful into his mouth. “Or, better yet, just use your fingers. It’d be easier in the long-run.”

“But that’s not datelike!” Gon complains, a piece of pie getting stuck to the side of his mouth.

“Depends,” Killua sniggers, reaching over with his free hand to smear a bit of cream on Gon’s nose, “on who you ask.”

“Hey!” Gon wrinkles his nose and pulls back, accidentally tugging too hard on their joined hands and forcing Killua to half sprawl onto the table. Blinking a few times, Gon just laughs and slides a bit of whip cream onto Killua’s cheeks.

“Okay,” growls Killua, ready to pounce with another handful of crumbling pie crust and whipped cream. “This means war--!”

They never get through the rest of the meal, as it turned out, once their food fight escalated to the two of them getting kicked out of the restaurant.

But it was fun, Killua had to admit, and their antics spurred on some of Gon’s most open smiles .

The best part of all, though, was that Gon, true to his word, refused to let go of Killua’s hand for the rest of the evening.


End file.
